Buffalo Chicken Dip, You're My Only Friend

The morning traffic is absolutely delightful 

Walking out of my mom’s room today, she told me to turn off her fireplace. “That’s 50 cents an hour!” she said supporting her request.

I said, “Oh jeez!” in a spoiled, sarcastic tone, and clicked the remote to turn off her fireplace. Oblivious to my condescension, she went on, “I know! I just have to do it though.”

Moving at the pace of a flock of turtles, we moved out the door with the kids, and went shopping.

For dinner, my dad and sister’s husband barbequed the equivalent of a cow, and my mom looked through the fridge for an additional side dish. She found a Pillsbury biscuit package that expired 2 months ago. As she popped open the package and began laying the discs of dough onto a baking sheet, I was pleading with her to not cook this expired food.

“Expiration dates don’t mean anything!” she retorted to my whining. I have heard expiration dates on condiments and yogurt are not true, but for raw processed foods, that are made with eggs, I think it is better to err on the side of caution. My mom conceded after admitting they had a peculiar smell. I think she grew nervous about poisoning her grandkids, the rest of us though were none of her concern. After a childhood with her expiration date blindness were equipped with the type of stomachs that would make us immune to the potential food borne illness, however, my babies aren't there yet.

My sister, dad and brother-in-law went out to get beers before coming home to make dinner. My mom and I stayed with the kids. We watched TV and ate snacks. I discovered a trove of gourmet gift basket foods they received as Christmas presents and were hoarding away in their cupboards. My parents will keep these really nice food items stock piled, waiting for a special occasion to eat them, but by that time, the food will have a stale and dusty taste. I figured this was doing the food an injustice, so it was my duty to gobble some of it up. I ate a bag of delicious chocolate covered almonds, and then some Sriracha spiced pretzels. By the time we sat down for dinner I was full, but managed to grow a second stomach for the steak dinner and carrot cake dessert.

Chocolate everywhere I turn!

I am anxious to get home tomorrow. I drink too much beer at my parents’ and I eat chocolate all day. I wish I could find comfort in eating kale when I get home, but alas, it is Super Bowl Sunday; the beer and fat food holiday. In my food coma, I am researching a simple recipe for Buffalo chicken dip. Last year I tried buffalo chicken dip, and was blown away. Transcended. I could wake up and eat buffalo chicken dip on a waffle, put it on a salad for lunch, and have it on expired biscuits for dinner. This dish is like ham on Easter, or Turkey on Thanksgiving; Buffalo Chicken Dip is served for the Super Bowl. Football is about sucking-it-up and taking-one-for-the team. So if the team is me and my holiday appetite, and sucking it up is in reference to buffalo chicken dip, I am on board. Bring it on, baby! It's game day. I'll do the kale on Monday.

George is Game Day ready

finding dip recipe is exhausting